Incomplete
by EsTeLweNadia
Summary: Two shot. Part one. When Sam left for Standford, Dean felt empty. He felt incomplete. Major Dean angst


**Title**: Incomplete

**By**: EsTeLweNadia

**Summary**: Two-shot. Part One. After Sam left for Standford, Dean felt empty. He felt incomplete.

**Rating**: Major Dean's angst.

**Disclaimer**: All of the Supernatural isn't mine. Neither is Sam. And sadly, regretfully, neither is Dean.

**Author's Note**: First time writing a Supernatural fanfiction so if it is not satisfactory please understand.

As always, comments and constructive criticism are immensely appreciated.

Go on… read…and enjoy!

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Sam had left. He had gone through the front door and would not come back. He didn't even say goodbye, save for the accusing glare he threw over his shoulder. The glare that snarled '_Fuck you, Dean. Fuck you for not backing me up_. _Fuck you for letting Dad said what he gonna say and fuck you for letting me go just like this_.' The glare that hurt more than anything physical. The glare that hurt more than Dean thought it would. And he wasn't sure what hurt more: the glare or the words.

It had been more than a night since Sam had left for Stanford. Since he had left for the normal life he had been longing for. And since then Dean had not stopped staring at the door, as if he could not believe that Sam, his little brother whom he had laid his life on, whom he had sworn to protect with all his life, with everything he had, whom he had make a lot of sacrifices for, had walked out on him just like that. _Just. Like. That_.

One moment Sam was yelling and screaming, the next he picked up his duffel bag and was just gone. _Just like that._ It left Dean baffled, shocked and when the cold, hard truth slammed into him –the cold, hard truth that Sam had _really_ left, without the intention of ever coming back– Dean felt strangely empty. He felt nothing inside. Just… numb. Empty. Hollow.

He and Dad went on with their lives, the life that Sam had left behind. Went on like nothing had happened, but at the same time, clearly showed that _something_ had happened. Like, for instance, Dad was harsher when dishing out orders, expecting to be obeyed without question, without hesitation, without doubt. Definitely not wanting to be disobeyed like Sam had unflinchingly done so. Dean only bowed his head and followed, understanding, though his heart desperately wished for Dad to understand him. The emotions – or lack of – that warred within him.

Maybe Dad did understand him. Maybe Dad just didn't know, or just plainly refused to show it. And he even went off for a solo mission with only '_Poltergeist. Not far. Will be back_. _Wait for me here_. ' as words to ease the worry. _Fuck, Dad_. How could he not be worried when Dad hadn't returned for five days? _Will be back _his ass! And Dean had no idea where he had gone to. Or how was he now. Should he disobey Dad and go find him, or should he stay put in their hotel till Dad returned, just as Dad told him to do?

That night he sat in the Impala, hands clenched around the steering wheel and distant eyes staring ahead. Sam had left. And now, Dad, too. He was all alone. Even the Metallica or Zeppelin turned up to their max could not drive the loneliness away. Could not drive it away the way Dad could. The way _Sam_ could.

They had no place to call home. Not since Mum's death. But for Dean, as long as Dad and Sam were around he was home. Even if they had no place left to go. Now without them within his sight he couldn't find any rest. He was tired, incredibly tired. Tired of being the only one who was struggling to keep the family together. Tired of being the only one who tried to make them understand each other, understand his intention, understand the predicament they had unknowingly put him in.

"_Goddammit,_" he muttered darkly underneath his breath as he started up the Impala's engine and roared through the night. Where he was going was anybody's guess. He just had to get away. Get away… get away… get away from what? He wasn't sure himself.

He had tried; really he had, to go on like he never knew Sam. Like Sam had not existed at all. But it was really _goddamned_ hard. Just how in the nine hells could he do that? When Sam kept haunting his every thought? Even though he knew he had tried his damnedest to block his little brother from his mind. To wish that Sam's leaving them didn't affect him as much as it actually did. To pray for his heart to be unbroken. It wasn't working.

Because without Sam all he was going to be was incomplete.

Incomplete…

"You gotta carry on, Son," Dad had told him the second night, the second lonely night after Sam had gone. The second night he didn't speak at all to Dad, to anyone. "You gotta move on with your life. Sammy's left. There is no Sammy now. There is only you and me. You hear me?"

"Yes sir," his reply was soft, throaty. A broken whisper. From a man with a tough façade, though inside his soul was in turmoil, his heart broken and smashed into smithereens.

"Can't hear you."

"Yes sir!"

So he swam, kept on swimming in the ocean he called his life. The waves just had gotten stronger, larger, looming mockingly over him and then came crashing down, pushing him into the darkness waiting below. But he always managed to swim back up to the surface. Every time. Because Sam and Dad were there with him, at his side. He wasn't sure he could do that again, now that he was alone. All alone.

He drove on and on, seeing not the streets or the night but memories. Memories that he clung to and memories that he wanted to banish. Especially this one particular memory that involved the Sam. It was written on his face. He still wondered if they made a big mistake.

_What big mistake?_ Dean scowled, stamping harder on the accelerator. _For letting you go? For choosing to live this life, instead of the fucking normalcy you wish for? Which one, Sammy? Which one?!_

The anger disappeared as quickly as it came, leaving Dean crumbling in its wake. He slowed the Impala to an abrupt stop at the road shoulder, then rested his head on his hands, which were still clenched tight around the steering wheel. He closed his eyes.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to let Sam go. Maybe it's because he didn't want to make Sam face this world alone. This world– the one he used to live in, the one he resented the most. Or that world – the one he was in now, the one he longed for.

He really wanted to let Sam go, but somehow, he couldn't.

He just couldn't.

"Sammy…" The name escaped his lips in a ragged sigh, and with that, the sturdy dam that was erected over his emotions finally broke.

- To Be Continued -

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Well, obviously it is based from Backstreet Boys' Incomplete. Somehow while listening to the song this fic just come up. I know similar fic – about how Dean felt when Sam left for Stanford - has been done lots of times by lots of people who did it a lot better than I did but… I hope you enjoyed reading mine.

Reviews? Comments? Criticism? (please be gentle, ya?) Well, dish them out. All are welcome, all are immensely appreciated.

Thank you.


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